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Can you tell me a story? I can’t even begin to count how many times my nieces have asked me to do that. They absorb every ounce, of every word I speak when I tell them foolish and wild tales of growing up or stories from my older family members. When each story finishes I can be sure to hear – another one please. They love every second of it and stare at me like I am a wonder of the world. We all love a good story, told well.

Storytelling is one of the oldest forms of entertainment. Before we had the internet, before we had cable, before we had cellphones, before we had Ipads — people got together and told stories. I’ve always had an insatiable interest in people and witnessing the world around me. Like some people love running or music, a great love of mine is hearing or recanting a great story. I grew up in the country with no cable which meant one of our main forms of entertainment was going to visit relatives and neighbours in the evenings. If my Mom was going so was I, as it meant I got to listen in on adult conversations and hear crazy stories. I can clearly remember my Grand Uncle Emile telling the story of getting home to his fathers funeral in Cape Breton. He was living away working as an RCMP officer and on the day he was to travel planes (from the only airline in Canada at that time) were grounded. Instead of missing his fathers funeral RCMP officers did a convoy for him – they drove him to the edge of their districts where an officer from the next district would meet them. Amazingly, he made it all the way from Ontario to Cape Breton in time for his fathers funeral. He told stories with such zest. Hands going. I was completely captivated by him. Or what about the time when Grand Uncle Blais as a boy got a cows horn through his neck and nearly died. Or when my Grandmere spent an entire year in a sanatorium when she had TB. This left my Grandpere home with 9 children. Or when myself and 5 girlfriends convinced 2 police officers to drive us to the bar and they asked for underwear as payment. Or Grand Uncle Jerome who loved playing pranks. He once gave my cousin Heather a hen in a box for her birthday. When she opened the box the hen flew all around the living room. Or when my Grand Aunt Phyllis gave away unwanted kittens for Halloween one year. Or Grand Aunt Rita who swore her house was haunted and told creepy stories about seeing ghosts there. Or the time when my brother Steve went through a barbed wire fence on a sled ripping his face to shreds and my likely somewhere around 300 pound grandfather nearly fainted when he brought him home to my Mom. Or when our very drunk neighbour Freddy was lying out in the middle of the road in front of our house and my mother had to talk him through getting up and off the highway. I watched from the hedge so that Mom wouldn’t see me – she told me to go back to the house. Or about the time when Allan and Brent (who were in elementary school at this time) stole our school bus and did wheelies on the soccer field with it. Or about Mrs North Grant. An eccentric woman who lived in town, dressed like Sex and The City but wore knee high pantyhose. Or the time when Sarah and I at 15 stole her parents car to go to a party Or when Mom and I on our way to Australia on a stopover in L.A. took a bus tour of downtown and got stuck because that happened to be the day when Michael Jackson died. Or when my brother Chris was able to get a dirt cheap place to live in university because the landlord asked if her mentally challenged brother could live with them. Or the night when our dog and two cats all got hit by separate cars on the road in front of our house. Or when we went away for March Break once leaving my brother Chris home to look after the house, a very pregnant cow and other animals – the cow got out and the police found her over the road. They called my Grand Uncle (who is a farmer) assuming it was his cow. Chris went to pick her up the next day. On the way down the driveway she bawled and died, likely from exhaustion. That was a great call to get at our hotel. Mom and Dad only learned ‘the real story’ of what happened when my brother got married. Coyotes were not involved, but my brother going to a party and not coming home was. Or how we had so much snow in the winter that we used to jump off the roof of our house into the drifts. One year Davids’ boots were not dug out until spring. Or the times when people (sometimes complete strangers), crawled up our driveway when they went off the road in front of our house during a wild winter storm. They would stay for supper. Or what about a cousin having her gallbladder stones in a jar in the cupboard. I could quite literally go on and on and on.

This week one of our great storytellers Stuart MacLean died. He had an enormous talent for connecting Canadians through his ability to tell a story. Every Sunday thousands of us across Canada tuned in to hear him recount a wildly funny or touching Dave and Morley tale, or to hear him read a listeners ‘must be true to be read’ story. How many times have I heard a story and thought – that would be a great story for The Vinyl Café! A few years ago I sent in a real ringer of mine and got a response saying they would like to use it on air. Unfortunately, the right show to match my story with did not come around prior to Stuart bowing out.

Technology, rules, loss of community and paranoia from media has caused us to become kind of, well, boring. We don’t talk to strangers. We don’t take risks. We don’t let our kids be independent because we fear the ‘what if’. All the places good stories are made we don’t have anymore. Earlier this week when I was walking home from work I came across a situation at a cross walk. There was a man lying on the ground obviously in a lot of pain, a bus driver was talking him through the pain he was in – there was a big crowd of younger people looking but not helping (this was very close to a large university so students were coming from class). I asked her if she had called 911 and she had already done so. I decided I couldn’t help anymore and kept walking. I had an awful feeling in my stomach wondering what happened to him and thought of him a few times this week. Did he get hit by a car? Did he have a heart attack? Fortunately, on Friday morning I saw the guy on the street near my house. He is definitely a rougher looking guy and isn’t someone I would know. I said ‘Excuse me, you don’t recognize me, but I saw you on the ground earlier this week and have been thinking of you ever since.’ He said ‘Oh, I fell on the ice and popped my shoulder out of place.’ I said ‘thank goodness that is all it was – glad to see you are okay.’ He stopped for a second and looked right at me and said ‘Hey, nobody seems to care about each other anymore. Thanks so much for caring about me.’ My 10 year old niece was with me when this conversation happened. I see a lot of myself in Cora in the way that she absorbs everything that is said around her. She loves hearing stories and listening to adult conversations. We got picked up in a taxi and chatted with our driver the whole way to her house. Cora said- Aunt Emilie you will just talk to anyone. True, and I am not going to stop. It is in conversation and interaction with other people (not looking at our phones or watching our TVS ) where stories and lifelong memories are created.

For those of you who don’t know me well you should know that I love people. Understanding them, analyzing them, observing them, laughing at them, wondering about them and of course impersonating them. I see people on a daily basis who make me wonder – how in the world did you become you?

There is a lady who burns around Spring Garden Road on a scooter. She drives that thing as aggressively as Mario Andretti drives his race car. I see her pretty often so I have encounters with her on the regular. There doesn’t seem to be an apparent aliment or mental illness, but man she is a ticket. One day I was walking with Millie when she stopped her scoot to ask me what kind of dog Millie is. She reached down to pet Millie and at the same time let out a massive belch. She said ‘Oh man, I’ve been having bad gas. From both ends’. And she peeled away. How did Joan become Joan?

There have been a lot of tourists in Halifax recently due to cruise ships having scheduled stops and some diverted due to hurricanes in the US. I spotted one couple who really turned my head. They were BOTH wearing solar shields (you know those big ugly sunglasses with panels on the side that make everyone look terrible), his and hers track suits and she had on a fanny pack. How in the world did those two people a) find each other b) toss away any sense of sexual identity they have c) chose this look to rock while on vacation. How did they become who they are?

There was a girl who used to take her dog to The Commons. She would often talk through her dog Shadow in this dorky-alien-like voice. She would say things like ‘Shadow says that mommy says that she wants a Starbuuuccckkks, so we have to go’. She was a lawyer and had recently moved back from Toronto after a breakup. Both of her parents were doctors (Psychiatrists in fact – this is important to note as you read on) – although she was a very educated girl, she said some of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard someone say (not always through the voice of the dog). One day when talking about ways to increase biking in Halifax, with a guy who works for The Ecology Action Centre, she said ‘I don’t really care what my cars do to the environment. I have two of them. One is an SUV and one is a BMW. They both have leather seats, I crank the air conditioning, I drive to the office when I should walk and I love it.’ Okay. There was a really interesting guy who used to come every now and again. He worked on a sailboat that trained kids in adventure sailing. One day when talking about kids and how so many have ‘conditions’ these days he said some more exercise, fresh air, less screen time and good food could change a lot of their behaviours (true). Old Captain Polarizing drops that she thinks kids need more medication and therapy. He said back to her – they would need less medication and therapy if they exercised and ate better. She said – you are wrong. Both of my parents are Psychiatrists and a lot of them are just messed up and need medication. He said – you are wrong. I bet you are on medication as it is apparent that you are indeed crazy. How did she become who she is at such a young age and how in the world did she find someone to date her?

I always love seeing how people react when they are put under just a little bit of pressure. Last year I was on a flight which went through Boston and due to switching terminals I had to go through security at Logan. It was busy in the security line and one of the TSA guys decided to reroute some of us to feed into another line up. Unfortunately, when he did this he moved one of the ropes wrong and we ended up on a road to nowhere. Now, this error on his behalf was quite simple and easily fixable. Well, well, well, did I ever see some Americans get their feathers fluffed. ‘What the hell is going on here anyway. You have us going nowhere.’ (add in the Boston accent and it makes it way better). Another says ‘I demand to be put to the front of the line. People who were behind us are now in front of us.’ Wow, I would hate to see what they are like when they are faced with a real problem. How did they become who they are? Where did they learn to flip out and overreact?

While I was in university I worked at Shoppers Drug Mart. First as a cashier and then as a pharmacist assistant. Working in a drug store allowed me to see a wide range of people doing very strange things. The day the flyer came out there was a stampede of cheapies who came in to stock up. God I hated having to tell someone the shipment of toilet paper didn’t come in and that I would have to give them a rain check – they would act like I just spit in their face. Where is the sex jelly, one guy with really bad buck teeth asked me once. Another guy tried to hand me his used tube of anal cream that had a ‘hair’ stuck to it. One day when I was working the front cash a real ringer came up to me. He was wearing really bad jean cut offs and flip up sunglasses (nearly as bad as the afore mentioned solar shields). He was asking me where this place called The Pub was. Unfortunately he was pronouncing it the way you would pronounce the type of hair that was attached to the afore mentioned tube of anal cream. So I said ‘Pipers PUB’ is around the corner at the lights. Just then a very attractive woman came up to the cash and this guy caught sight of her. The way he talked reminded me of Cousin Eddie on National Lampoon. He said ‘Wow. Look at you. (he said that part very slowly) Where are you going because that is where I want to be.’ She was fairly confused by his forwardness (I mean this was Shoppers Drug Mart in a small town) and she clearly was very out of his league. How in the world did this guy become such a massive power geek who thought he could approach a woman in this manner? He must be immune to the word no, and well, he was American so his perception of self might have been a bit inflated.

What would I do if there weren’t any characters floating around? I wouldn’t have as much to write about. Let’s be honest people who are normal are boring after all. Can’t really write about how I witnessed someone wearing Ray Bans walk around taking pictures of Halifax with their iPhone. People who are a little less vanilla are right up my alley. In the words of Bonnie Raitt – they give me something to talk about.

Today a bird shit on me. Almost a year ago to the day a bird shit on me. I am not sure what I did to attract that action, but most of the time the stuff I attract is at least funny, almost always good and very seldom is it shitty. It always amazes me when random things happen. Of all the places for my feet to be, of all the moments in the day and all the places my eyes could have been looking…

Now that the weather is nice I’ve changed my morning routine around. I used to take the dog over to a green space near my place, throw the ball for a half hour, return home, get ready and then walk up Citadel Hill on my way to the office. Now, I get ready for work and leave in time to go for at least an hours walk before hitting my paid duties. I’ve been walking the waterfront before climbing back up the hills of Halifax to eventually end up at my office. As I was following this route something so incredibly funny happened the other day. I don’t normally listen to music when I am walking as I like to be engaged in my surroundings and when I have headphones in I am not. Since it is early and there are really not many people around, I’ve been listening to music as I walk. Well, sometimes I listen and I sometimes (often) sing along. So as I was belting out the words to Meatloaf, Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad when I came to an area where there are two large office towers. Due to a set of stairs which come down from a pedway above you can only take one route – which is maybe about 10 feet wide. As I came closer to this little area I could see a woman doing exercises with a tension band on the stairway posts. As I got closer I realized it was my ex-boyfriends-ex-wife. As I got even closer (and the stairs were not obscuring my view) I realized that my ex-boyfriends-ex-wife was being working worked out by his current and much younger than her girlfriend. So, in this 10 foot wide area there was: an ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, current girlfriend, and just for drama sake, an ex-dog.. My best guess is that they have no idea who each other is. The ex-wife knows who I am. The current girlfriend knows who I am. I know who they both are and Millie is clueless. Take that for a multi generation smash up. This was a real Hollywood like moment. It gave me something to chuckle about the rest of the way to work. Of all the places for my feet to be, of all the moments in the day and all the places my eyes could have been looking…

There is this man who I’ve ‘known of’ for quite sometime. I’ve never met him, but I know a lot about him. I’ve seen his picture, seen him on TV and read things he writes. I think if I ever met him we would like each other (I also think Oprah and I would love each other if we met). Last week one of my best friends and I did a tandem work trip to Prince Edward Island (where this guy lives). On the way there I told her about this man (he is a man not a guy). Imagine, the next morning I was sitting in a coffee shop working when he walked in. He was standing about 2 feet from me. I fervently texted Kristen as I choked on my morning glory. She said ‘Oh my god – go talk to him. If anyone can do this you can.’ He sat down and started doing some work as I was sitting by myself concealing laughter. Again in this situation – he has no idea who I am but I know who he is. It seemed too awkward and the conversation would have been overheard by at least 7 other espresso drinking coffee shop dwellers. I did inspect him in real life. He had on nice socks which says a lot.

I am a big believer in energy and attraction. My family and friends can attest that they hear me saying on a regular basis – you won’t believe what happened! Sometimes you have no idea who is around you. You have no idea what they are thinking about. You have no idea how they are connected to people you know. You have no idea how much they know about you. Although I was glad to be wearing earphones the day I walked through the Exes and Ins Club on the waterfront… I normally would say take them off and engage in the world around you. I bet you are missing out on a few great stories.

Tomorrow I am hosting a baby shower for my very best friend and so it got me thinking about friendship. I’ve done a lot of reading about friendships over the years and what I’ve learned is extremely interesting. Women who have close friends:

Live longer

Are happier

Have less stress

Cope better when traumatic events occur and have better outcomes as a result

Have better self confidence and self worth

If in a relationship have stronger relationships with their partner

Well, if all of this is true I should be setting a record in The Guinness Book of World Records for living the longest, happiest, carefree life because I have lots of really wonderful friendships. My mother has always been a terrific ‘stay-in-toucher’ and so I learned that from her. Friendships are extremely important to me. In fact managing all of my friendships can be a cause of stress… hoping that doesn’t counteract the benefits of them!

Sarah (the mentioned pregnant best friend). How do I even begin? We are second cousins and so we’ve known each other our entire lives. We started grade primary together and the love affair we have with each other began somewhere along the way at HM MacDonald Elementary School. How do I describe Sarah? She is hilarious yet serious, she is wild yet disciplined, she is easygoing yet structured, she is loyal, kind, quirky, complex and she is beautiful yet extremely modest. Over the years we’ve spent thousands of hours together and hundreds of hours on the phone. In fact, one time we were having such a solid conversation (but Sarah needed to get ready to go somewhere) that she didn’t want to cut it off. Instead she took the phone into the shower with her. Suddenly she sounded like she was in a tunnel and the phone died. The conversation was done and so was her phone. Something else about Sarah is that she is extremely honest. She went into Telus and when they asked what happened to the phone… she told them exactly what I just told you. The guy at the phone store just burst out laughing, commended her for being honest, but he couldn’t replace the phone for free for being so. There have been times when our conversations were so long that her cell phone was going to die so she switched to her landline, beeped into the conversation, hung up the original call, then my phone would be on the verge of dying so I would switch to my landline and beep into the conversation. When we spend the night together we can talk and talk and talk. In fact, Sarah has been known to say to me ‘Emilie, alright if I stop responding to you when you’re talking, it just means I am asleep, but feel free to keep talking.’ The single-handed biggest theme of our friendship is laughter. We are 36 years old now and we still roar at the most foolish bits. We were allowed to stay at each others houses on school nights, we’ve lived together and even worked together as adults. Sarah got married about 6 years ago – poor Bobby and what he has been exposed to over the years.

When I was a kid my most favorite movie ever was Anne of Green Gables. My mother had taped the television version of it for me and I would watch it over and over again (until my brothers taped over it in 2 minute increments of a hockey game). Anne and Diana had a special friendship. Anne called Diana her ‘Kindred Spirit’ her ‘Bosom Friend’. Beaches is another favorite movie of mine. I have probably watched it about 29 times and I still crrryyyyyyyyy every time I watch it. C.C. Bloom and Hilary Whitney. When I watch it I always envision me as C.C. and Sarah as Hilary. The problem is Hilary dies. I love the line where Hilary says she is forgetting things and C.C. says ‘Listen, I know everything there is to know about you and my memory is long. Very long.’ Another great friendship I admire is Oprah and Gayle. They too have been friends for over 30 years. After working together for a week there was a snowstorm and Oprah couldn’t get home. Gayle told her she could stay with her. Oprah said ‘but I don’t have any clean underwear with me’ to which Gayle responded ‘don’t worry you can borrow a pair of mine’. Oprah said she knew Gayle would be her long time friend in that moment. Sarah and I have shared everything (other than a man) over the years – money, underwear, secrets, clothing, a bed and so much more.

Friendships (unlike marriages) have no set of rules or expectations attached to them. They are generally purely for enjoyment and enrichment. The one rule for any form of relationship is that it takes work – pick up the phone, type a text, make a plan and get together. The hardest laughs I’ve ever had have been with friends and I have a lot of people who would be willing to share their underwear with me. In the words of Oprah ‘what I know for sure is’ that your work will come and go, money will come and go, men will come and go and when they do it is your friends (and family) who will be there.

In September a whole new chapter is going to be written – Sarah is having a baby. The plan is for me to go in with them to have the baby. There are some pretty specific logistics which have to work in our favor for this to work (I live a 2 hour flight away), but here’s to hoping. I am sure we will cry and then laugh about her pooping on the table or something like that.

I am in St. John’s Newfoundland for work and due to a cancelled meeting I came to the airport earlier than expected. I thought I might be able to get on an earlier flight, but due to delays and fees it didn’t make sense. Instead, I am sitting here beavering away on work bits and of course watching and listening to people around me. A father travelling with 3 (of his 6 kids) just told one who is misbehaving that ‘a knuckle sandwich was coming his way if he didn’t start listening.’ At airports I see many emotions and behaviours: love, impatientness, crankiness, sadness, anxiousness and totally bizarre bits too (just to name a few).

The last time I was in St Johns I was sitting in the exact same seat I am sitting in right now when quite a raucous broke out. A guy came barrelling out of the bar making these insane animal like noises. In just saying ‘guy’ I do no justice in aiding you to understand the situation. This ‘guy’ was similar in size to John Goodman or John Candy. A very large guy. So he comes barrelling out, making said noises and falls flat on his face. Some airport people came along and called 911. As people started to take notice a few locals who knew him came by. ‘Ahhh, now see that’s Jamie and he’s been having a rough time lately.” Rough time lately? He is at an airport (so for the sake of this story I am going to assume he was waiting to get on a plane). Jamie drank enough at that bar to put his 300 pound self flat on his face (and someone served him the booze which induced this state). It was highly likely that he was meant to be on my flight. To understand why I was so glad that he was not going to be on my flight I must give you some background info. A few months prior to this incident I visited my oldest brother in Grande Prairie, Alberta. There are a lot of oil rig workers that come and go through that airport. A group of guys fresh off a month of work arrived drunk for our 11 am (yes) flight. I am not sure why they were allowed to get on the flight in the first place, but it happened. Shortly after take off my worst nightmare happened. The biggest guy in the group projectile barfed all over the place. A few times. It was awful. Like I am gagging right now thinking of it. One poor old lady who has the unlucky recipient of being hit with his Stand By Me Lard Ass spray was brought to the front of the plane to get cleaned up. The stewardess said to the lady ‘Do you have a change of clothes in your carry on?’ to which she replied ‘No dear I don’t. I mean, I wasn’t planning on being vomited on.’ I literally had to teleport myself out of that plane for the rest of the flight. I looked autistic with my nose plugged, eyes closed and head turned toward the window. I was rather thankful that Jamie was face down on the floor rather than getting on my flight and inducing my ‘in-flight-barfer-PTSD’.

Gosh, Grande Prairie flights have really caused me some trauma come to think of it. Another flight I took there I was seated in the front row of the plane. It ended up that a guy who had been airlifted to Edmonton because his barbeque had blown up in his face was coming home and was going to be my seatmate. Alright. So he comes on the plane with a full face of dressings and his arms were also bandaged up big time. It was kind of like being seated next to E.T. Because we were seated in the front row and it is a small commuter plane we were very close to the washroom. So he gets settled in beside me and just then an older man made a very anxious and quick beeline for the washroom. He was in there for quite sometime. When he came out the worst smell I have ever in my life been exposed to hit me. I was wishing I was the guy beside me as his nose was all bandaged up so his smell was likely blocked. My father has been known to make some vicious smells, but this guy trumped them all. People in the front rows couldn’t contain themselves. In unison I heard people say ‘Oh my God’. Just before the flight was going to take off he made another trip. Honestly, I don’t know what meal or road kill that man ate to cause that vile assault on my nostrils. I know there are tickets for violating noise bylaws… this guy should have been given one for breaking a smell bylaw and creating a massive disturbance.

It is close to boarding time now, so I sit here with my fingers crossed for no bodily function dramas on my flight. If anything happens I will let you know…

I’ve been rocking the ‘Single’ title for about 6 months now. Although my grandmother probably thinks a) I am going to be a Spintress or b) that there is something wrong with me. I have to say I have been thoroughly enjoying myself. Do what I want – when I want. Eat what I want – when I want. See who I want, solo sleep is sound and dating is a tonne of fun. Of course, there have been a few good stories and they are worth sharing.

About 1.5 months ago I went to dinner with a guy I had met. I suggested a restaurant which is close to my place and so I trotted down the hill to meet him. I could see the back of his head in the front window when I walked in so I knew where he was sitting. There is a small wall when you walk in which blocks the view of where he was and the table beside him. So I walked past that little wall and made a sharp right hand turn. I saw him. He saw me. And unfortunately, I also saw my ex-boyfriend. As luck would have it they were sitting right beside each other. Like, an arms length apart. The feeling I had was similar to walking in on your parents having sex. I said ‘Hello’ to both parties and turned on my pink heels to find the waitress. Fortunately I knew her. I said ‘Listen we’ve got a 911 situation in the front… ex boyfriend and date are sitting beside each other.’ She said ‘Walk to the back. Walk to the back. I will get you a drink and fetch your date.’ So I slammed back a dark and stormy and settled in. Now, the other weird thing about the situation was that he was having dinner with a, hmm, how do I say it, a very young girl who I’ve met before. There was a 17 year difference between him and I, but there must be at least 25 between them. He wasn’t in his right after work clothes. Nope. He had gone home and changed which made me think it was a date. Maybe he was helping her figure out how to put her tuition towards her tax return. Or maybe she was teaching him how to use Snapchat. I digress. One way or the other it felt incredibly awkward. Alas, the guy I was on the date with was kind of already dead in the water for a few reasons – he likes Star Wars and playing video games.

I since signed up for an online site as that is the way of the world now, but feel kind of wary about it so I hid my profile. This is a good thing in that you don’t get buckets of emails from greasers who say ‘hey sexy’ or ‘Hi’, ‘Mmmm’, or ‘Ur hot’, but it also limits normal guys seeing you too. Based on info that the website collects from you it creates a list of potential matches. One day I had what they call a ‘Ultra Match’. When I looked at the profile I thought I recognized him. It was a guy who I go to the dog park with every morning. Because my profile is hidden he can’t see me, so he isn’t aware of this info. I read his profile where he said he is funny, has a great job, lots of hobbies, smart, etc. I went to the park in the morning with a new purpose – I was going to sniff my ultra match out. Honestly, it took nearly a month to hear him say anything even kind of funny. It was like pulling teeth talking to him at first. The thing with online dating is people hide behind their computers. It is a whole lot harder to be funny and interesting in person than it is typing on a computer. I’ve somewhat broken him down at this point. I don’t think he is my ‘Ultra Match’. He wears bad track pants, but his dog is fabulous.

On a flight to NYC a few weeks back a silver fox was sitting beside me. My girlfriends were sitting behind me so I was kind of turned around chatting with them. I said something about having a goat when I was a kid and how much of an asshole he was. The silver fox who was seated across from me found that funny and started to laugh. After that he got wrapped into our conversation. After we explained that we were going to NYC to get a wedding dress for one of the girls he said to me ‘So you are engaged?’. I said ‘No, Katie is.’ He said ‘Oh, are you married?’ To which I said ‘No. Are you?’. He replied ‘I was married for a long time, but I’m not now.’ He also in the course of conversation told us about his personal airplane, Ferrari and other macho shit that men like to share and think they are impressing you with. He showed us a picture of his ski chalet across from The Ritz in Colorado and Katie showed him a video of her riding a GT Racer down her driveway going over homemade ramps. Just to bring him back down to earth. I would have been far more impressed if he didn’t say anything at all about his financial prowess. Anyhow, I checked my email a few days later and lo and behold I had a message from him saying how much he enjoyed meeting me and that he is coming back to Halifax in a month and would love to see me. I guess I had given him enough information that with a little ‘google’ he tracked me down. He had snow on the roof, but a fire in the oven. If he gets back in touch I will go on a date with him… if for no other reason than to just to have a good story to write about here.

The most recent escapade includes being set up with a guy who’s last name involves the word ‘fart’. My most recent boyfriend had the same last name as me. If it was something typical that would just be boring, wouldn’t it?

I realized today that tomorrow is one month until my next birthday. 36! I will be in the higher end of my mid 30’s (I think 37 is officially ‘late 30’s’). So I got thinking about age.

My elementary music teachers name was Miss Hickey (no man ever dared to claim her). She was an anomaly to say the least. She wore a wig, cleaned her dentures in front of the class after she ate tapioca pudding with rotten bananas in it, wore polyester pants pulled up as high as they could go with a white blouse tucked into them, had big pointy boobs and put too light powder on her face that made her look mime like. She also had bad bunions, loved classical music and drove a powder blue Tempo Topaz which had sheet music/records piled up to the windows. I have no idea how Helen Hickey became who she was. Apparently, her age was classified information. Back as far as I can remember age was such a taboo topic (as was talking about finances, sex, religion, health – all the good stuff) and it always seemed like it was something negative. Getting older. Not getting more interesting, more confidant, more beautiful, more content, or more sexy. I’ve always loved the saying ‘Age is mind over matter… it only matters if you mind.’ I actually quite like getting older (really it is better than the alternative, right?).

I really try (emphasis on try) to make laughter and having connections with others be part of my daily life. Like tonight, I met a man who lives on my street for the first time. After chatting he wanted to give Millie a treat (which were in his apartment). He is an older man and likely lonely. Say the word treat and Millie is in without hesitation. I just saw the movie Room so I felt a bit hesitant to go in. I stayed out on the street laughing as my dog was in someone’s apartment getting a treat. They both ended up quite happy and Millie has not died from poisoning yet. As I get older I’ve noticed more heavy topics floating around on the regular – relationship issues, health, fertility, finances, careers, retirement, wrinkles, terrorism, economy, lack of sleep, what next, worry. Stress! Why does adult life have to be so damn serious? Whatever you focus on appears. If you are reading this my wish is for you to shake it off sometime in the near future. There is a hashtag I use often. #letitgo. Have some fun. Connect with people around you. It will make you feel fresh and lighter. On Saturday I did an egg beater, helicopter, bootie shake, handstand dance compilation for my 7 and 6 year old nieces. It was Beyonce like and they were very impressed. I am the young woman in the picture, not the old hag.